


And What of Eloise?

by nico_peppah



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Benedict Bridgerton, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nico_peppah/pseuds/nico_peppah
Summary: Following the events of Bridgerton Season 1, Eloise finds herself softening to the idea of finding love and curious about friendship with the gentleman of the ton. Finding friendship in the opposite sex turns out to be much more challenging than anticipated though as there is only one man of true interest to her, Mister Arthur Beaumont, friend of Benedict and absolute rake.
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Original Male Character(s), Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton/Original Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	1. The Journal

Eloise had long since decided that very little within the realm of possibility could surpass a rainy afternoon in the drawing room. It was not the most popular opinion among debutantes of the ton, nor their marriage minded mamas. On her favorite sofa, fountain pen in hand, there was little use promenading the dreary outside world for suitors.

Only on a rainy afternoon could her best friend Penelope Featherington sit across from her, contentedly reading her book blocks away from Lady F’s scrutinizing gaze. In the far corner Lady Violet chatted about this and that with her eldest son while the young Gregory Bridgerton had decided to read cross legged on the thick woven rug at her feet. With rain pattering delicately at the window closest to her, Eloise was contentedly left to her writing and everyone was in their proper place. Well, nearly everyone.

If she had to guess, the ever-curious and stubbornly tenacious Hyacinth Bridgerton asked what Eloise wrote in that book about once every other day. Much to her youngest sister’s chagrin, the replies were always different and assuredly always false. The last attempt at finding her journal’s contents had Hyacinth fuming. Like always she approached at her most angry with her brother and typical playmate Gregory, looking to let off a bit of steam. 

“What are you writing about today, Eloise?” Hyacinth sat on her knees at her elder sister’s feet.

Eloise was comically loud as she proclaimed, “A list of some of the most eligible gentleman of the ton. I’m making my own list of horrible matches before Anthony and Mama conspire to make one for me.”

The room was used to her jests and gave it no mind, all smiles and teasing in her direction. The Bridgerton family got along quite well most days. From little Gregory to Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the children of Lady Violet and the Late Viscount got along better than almost any other family in the ton. Anthony shared a secretive glance with his mother that Eloise internally noted but could not delve into because Hyacinth was once again whining.

“You are trying to fool me again. I am older now. Almost 11.” She huffed like a right girl of 11.

“Older, you say. I shall write your potential matches as well then.” Eloise made an exaggerated motion to flip the page and begin henceforth. Hyacinth took a new position on the sofa beside her. She brought her voice down to a whisper and gave a most haughty look. It was slightly less intimidating when one could simply glance down at her daintily crossed legs, the tips of her toes barely gracing the floor whilst seated.

As if sensing the need to be taken more seriously, Hyacinth glared.

“I’ll steal it when you are fast asleep and I shall know every last one of your secrets” she threatened, “You snore in your sleep, you know. How would you ever hear me come in?”

Eloise, good natured in the company of all her favorite people insisted, “But sister. You don’t know where I hide it from you. Isn’t it obvious? As you are so very small and the tall library ladder still very off limits.” Before the youngest Bridgerton could respond however, Eloise had put down her journal and taken Hyacinth in her lap.

“Oh don’t be in a bad mood, sweet girl.” She bopped her knee and hugged her sister tight. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“When I can promenade alongside you and Penelope?” The littlest Bridgerton’s eyes so full of hope, Eloise had no chance of retaining any annoyance. Hyacinth, so very much like her at 10 and a half, always wanted to fit in with the elder Bridgertons. 

“Yes,” Eloise replied, but was suddenly quite crestfallen by a vision, a waking nightmare truly, in which both she and her best friend were the ripe age of 26 years and accompanying Hyacinth as a new debutante. Eloise was still forced to attend parties and musicales as an old maid, unwed and bored out of her wits.

Penelope made a coughing sound that brought Eloise back to the drawing room and the sounds of steady rain hitting the window.  
“You look rather lost there for a moment, Eloise.” Penelope said with a concerned look. Eloise let Hyacinth off the perch of her knee and the girl skipped back to Gregory to surely start up a game.

“Oh, I’m quite fine. Quite fine.” Eloise stated, but the remainder of the drawing room could hear something in plain. Fear. Pity for her dear child plucked at Violet’s heartstrings. That breathy little announcement was all she needed to hear to excuse herself discreetly from her son, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and not so discreetly call Eloise to sit beside her nearest the windows. Violet knew her daughter hid in the armor of her mint colored jackets and declarations of uniqueness form the girls of the ton. It was long since time she discuss her daughter’s methodology of protecting her heart. 

Violet looked to her child who was clearly avoiding her gaze. Unshed tears brimmed at those large expressive eyes and with discretion she held out a hand to her daughter, who took it and held tight. A moment of silence, thick with unspoken emotion passed between the pair. 

“Darling, we will help you. Anthony and I. Even Benedict and Colin. Your first season will be rife with mistakes, but that’s why you have us. To catch you.” She lowered her voice considerably, “Even Daphne needed her family on the way to becoming duchess.”

Eloise held tighter and squeezed her eyes shut, “Why must I choose between being me and... all of that.” The forbidden tears patted on her satin coated lap. 

Violet smiled a little when she said, “Not all is black and white as you think, perhaps? An intellectual may find a husband who values her mind. A woman may still have quick wit and love roses. Perhaps there are a lot more things about the world you have yet to write down in your journal. It will do you good to keep an open mind.” She could practically envision the wheels turning behind her daughter’s eyes. Eloise stood to hug her and both ladies took a deep breath together. 

“I can try, mama” Eloise whispered, “I can promise only that though.” She kissed Violet’s cheek, which was a bit wet now with an errant tear or two.

The social season was quickly approaching and much like many other families of the ton, the presentation to the queen was of great importance to get their daughters off on the right foot. By this week’s end all the debutantes would know where they stood.


	2. Feathers in the Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is all truly forgiven when one has insulted Queen Charlotte's matchmaking abilities? Do the men of the ton have any clue this is all happening?

“Another Bridgerton girl” simpered Queen Charlotte who, perched upon her throne, looked Eloise up and down twice. “The Duke and Duchess of Hastings are well, Lady Bridgerton?" 

She spoke so slowly and the remaining hundred people in the room hung on every word. All knew that the love match between Daphne and Simon was in direct violation of the queen’s intended match involving the eligible bachelor Fredrick of Prussia. 

“They are very much in love, your Grace.” Violet replied, polite but unwavering by the unspoken words between them. “A blessing on the greatest magnitude is it not? We have you to thank for their license of course.” 

The crowd murmured their various theories on the second conversation happening beneath the puffed layers of the first. An apology from Lady Violet. The Queen turned her attentions to Eloise.

“You are the Bridgerton who approached me about Lady Whistledown’s identity.” A collective gasp filled the audience chamber. Suddenly fuzzy white stars appeared at the corners of Violet’s vision. She had spoken to Queen Charlotte before?

“Yes, Your Highness. That would be me,” replied the girl in question. The royal smiled, the silence was, if possible, even more palpable now. 

“Lady Violet, you have a radiant daughter. It is only unfortunate that her tongue be so very sharp. However, with that face, one does not mind it so very much.” Here the royal dismissed them with a haughty smile and a waving of her fan. It appeared the Bridgerton’s were back in Queen Charlotte’s good graces. Violet and her daughter made the appropriate motions to politely extricate themselves back on the safe side of the curtain. 

Once there, mother embraced daughter.

“What do you think? It went by so very fast for how frightening it was. Feel this, my heart is still racing.” Violet didn’t notice the tears pricking the corners of her own eyes. The encounter had been as tense as she had imagined it would be. The relief was most intoxicating.

“Eloise, I should do more than pinch you for that surprise back there, but I’m so relieved I can’t at the moment. Radiant!” She was so overcome with pride for her girl. “You are, my darling. You are.”

Mister Arthur Beaumont, second son to the notoriously wealthy Viscount Gregory Beaumont suffered what many a young man in his twenties would only begrudgingly admit to, and for certain only admit to the most tight lipped of confidants. While in France Arthur had missed something. Something that he knew was wholly tied to England and the life he had left back in Mayfair. 

His brothers’, His father's, even his mother’s dispassionate stare couldn’t keep him away. It could only be assumed homesickness had lured Arthur back into the arms England and subsequently back into the limelight of society. Most importantly though, that homesickness was relieved of him the moment he was back with his friends. Though rakes, and young ones at that, they were all just handsome enough that a charming smile or family banker could get any a one out of most situations. Not that Arthur spent every moment in need of an escape strategy. He was roguish and charming as much as he was intellectual and thoughtful. Some of his more rigorous athleticism could even be discussed with mixed company. 

Sitting in a leather armchair, Arthur reflected over a glass of fine Brandy how very good it was to be back at Whites’. The wine in France was sweet with the thrill of adventure, but nothing beat the taste of true finery. He finished the glass and called a liveried server for another. 

The small gang of gentleman surrounding him had called him to White’s the moment more than one packed carriage had arrived at Beaumont House. Being raised on Eton boarding school lunches and Oxford dormitory rules made the group in some circumstances quite closer than the families they had been born into. Arthur would always nurture a close friendship with the other gentleman as evidenced with the fact that he was back at White’s the day before the first social event of the 1815 season.

“There are still five of us left, gentleman!” announced young Mister Weaver, “None of those mama’s shall take us down before we damn well please!”

“Not while we have our own ‘diamond of the first water’”, proclaimed Charles.

“Aye!” said Misters Phillip and Charles Pembroke clinked their glasses together in mirth.

“How dare you call me that,” screeched Arthur.

“Right, brother, His title is secret weapon of mama lustfulness.” Phillip said with a tone that asserted his dominance as elder twin.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call me a secret weapon,” Arthur said. 

“Oh you are no hero, we all know,” said the gentleman to his left, one Mister Weatherby, “You left us for dead last season to watch French opera stars and screw Hell only knows how many women. Speaking of which, remind me just how many mama’s you seduced on the private terrace last season?” 

“Oh, that was a Whistledown rumor, and come to think of it, one that was probably instigated by one of you! Sadists, the lot of you. It gave my mother a near heart attack, to read that. We couldn’t make eye contact for nearly a month," He laughed and the group shared a chuckle. More than one empty glass tapped the surface of their table.

Something in Arthur’s gut tugged uncomfortably at the subject.

“How am I to be of service of you all now that I am back ‘round? Care to strip me of all my pocket money and charm all the mama’s away? Will I be back in your good graces then?”

“Exactly that, friend. Exactly that. Starting with these.” Arthur did not expect his dearest friends to pull out a neat stack of miniatures, wrapped in a velvet box of black. He opened it to find several innocent faces peeking out from behind fans. 

“This, Mister Beaumont, is your punishment for leaving us gentleman to fend those women off without you. We have had plenty of time to sort out just what your punishment for leaving us should be and have each chosen our top three most horrid matches. Arthur now that you have come home for the social season, you, my master of distraction, diamond of the first water and mama seducer, you shall make them disappear.”

“How am I to-”

“We don’t care.” The table had grown rowdy with laughter and Arthur boldly admitted the truth, as if they would ever believe him.

“I’m telling you all, I don’t seduce older women.” He sipped from his near empty glass. His stomach suddenly felt quite sour, indeed.

“Well here are my three, Arthur.” Mister Weatherby pointed, to the ones marked FW, Frederick Weatherby.

“And mine,” the nervous looking Mister Weaver laughed mirthlessly. Arthur shuffled from picture to picture.

“Are you blind, Georgie? As if this angel would have the likes of you for a suitor! She’d toss your gift right out the drawing room window, lest it was a puppy she didn’t want to cause injury to!” He displayed a portrait of one of the sweeter looking Cowper sisters.” The man in question pinked in the cheeks. “And what’s wrong with this one? You look as if you’ve bit a lemon.”

“We’ve known each other since we were both in those swaddling clothes,” George Weaver complained.

“You couldn’t possibly remember that!” Arthur teased.

“Weren’t you enamored with this one?” George retaliated.

Arthur felt his cheeks grow hot, “I was conversational, that was all. Obviously, I was quite naïve, then.”

“Naïve as in naïve for a lying rake, or…” the company laughed heartily at this.

“At ten years of age I didn’t know I’d have to marry her if I was at all kind to her!” Arthur announced. The rest mumbled their agreement as Arthur shuffled. 

“This will be a lot of mama’s for one man to play keep away.” Arthur drawled. “The best I can do for you is one each, gentleman. Pick your worst and I’ll consider us even on all accounts.” After much deliberation the agreement was settled on one mama per gentleman as well as an unnamed ‘favor of choice’ to be chose by the end of May. This was by far the worse for its potential embarrassment, but Arthur was simply glad to be home, back among his colleagues and friends, devilish as a group of overgrown Oxford boys could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Readers! I think a lot of us have found some relief and dare I say ACTUAL FUN this covid season through Julia Quinn's novels and this first season of Bridgerton. Hoping to share just a little more joy with this work.


	3. The Opera: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eloise's first outing as a lady of elite breeding finds her out of her element in a way that leaves her most curious for more.

Dearest Readers,  
There is no indulgence grander, or so this Author humbly admits, more fascinating a scene than a rumor spread among the attendees of an opera. Much like wildfire come alive on the instigation of soprano song, few members of the elite could refuse an invitation to a private box for a drink or to a darkened stair for some of the less genteel of indulgences. Chaperones, your first test of the season. Does your doe eyed debutante look like the perfect temptation for a silver-tongued rake? This Author has her own guesses as to who might succumb to such a scandal. For it has been so very long since this many handsome bachelors gathered in London.  


Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers Apr 2 1815

Long after the house had settled into slumber, Eloise found herself on the swing under the great oak in the garden. All was still and quiet, just as she liked, when Benedict approached. Like many a time before he took the swing beside her and offered her a sip from a squared glass of fine aged whisky. She offered the lit cigarette in return. It had unknowingly become a ritual between the siblings somewhere over the course of Daphne's first season.

Eloise said nothing, a moment of silence passing between them in shared indulgence. They were numbered now, the moments she got to spend with her closest brother. But Benedict did in fact come out to say something. Eloise could see it in the deep divot he had made in the lawn with one boot. 

“Oh spit it out Benedict.” Eloise insisted.

“I don’t think anyone has quite told you what to expect of the opera tomorrow, have they?” Bededict looked into his glass of melting ice.

“Here’s what I know,” Eloise started, a general with a plan. “It’s the same rules as always.”

“And my dearest, most experienced sister, what are these rules again? It has been a long time since you had an etiquette lesson and I see you acting with the bare minimum of decorum wherever possible.”

“Easy. Don’t linger in dark corners, try not to sneer at anyone of importance and don’t embarrass mama or Anthony when they introduce me to the most inane suitors they can find.” She made a haughty face after admitting the last qualifier.

“Yes, like that one.” Benedict smirked, “I’m taking Anthony’s place tomorrow. It shall be our lady mother and myself escorting you.” 

Eloise’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of delight. “ I figured you wanted your favorite brother with you,” he said.

“Truly?” Eloise squeaked, “Oh Benedict, I’m so happy! Now I can’t possibly die of boredom.” Her expressive eyes showed genuine gratefulness mixed with her typical sarcastic shield.

“Here, here.” Benedict chuckled into his ice, “But truly, Eloise, tomorrow night do you swear to stay by my side?” Eloise’s heart soaked up the affection like a bloom in sunshine. " I worry for you." 

“Just this once, Benedict I shall listen without argument.” She stamped out the end of her cigarette with her heeled boot. “I am intellectual enough to understand when I’m in way over my head.”

No one had warned Eloise as to the nature of the show that would be playing at the Opera and upon arrival she was quite shocked to find a myriad of scantily clad dancers, actors in the night’s performance. From a land beyond, women in sheer silks and men clad in the linen pants of the East handed pamphlets to the attendees at the entry. The air was humming and stifling hot in the opera house, as if the practically nude actors had the right in displaying their bare mid sections and muscular arms.

Bachelors and Debutantes alike sized each other up on the way to their family boxes, some making eye contact with whoever they could, heads on a swivel. Eloise simply focused on the stairs and how very quickly she could build calluses on her armpits. The new corset she wore was causing blisters even before she even had a chance to be seen by anyone!

“For the love of Queen Charlotte, how much longer must I pretend to be comfortable?” hissed Eloise to her brother.

“We just got here.”

“Have you ever worn a debutante’s corset, brother. Rose compared my waist to a fruit. A grapefruit in fact! I’m just lucky Rose likes me.” She took an experimental deep breath as evidence.

“You know, Penelope’s sister once squeezed her waist down to the size of three lemons? Where do the organs go, Benedict? It makes no sense.” She huffed and couldn’t quite get enough air back in her lungs to handle the rest of the stairs close-mouthed.

Benedict, looking ever the fashionable rake ignored her as he was busy making prolonged eye contact with a young man at the top of the stair. Eloise noted she didn’t quite have something on every bachelor of the ton, as this man obviously familiar to her brother, was not at all someone she had seen before. She took advantage of his not looking at her to observe further. The stars at the corners of her vision did not help her case.

With hazel eyes and thick, dark hair his features weren’t anything Eloise hadn’t seen before from afar but something in the lines of this man’s masculine jaw sent a bit of unfamiliar heat racing to an intimate place of her. For maybe the first time ever she wished someone that handsome would smile at her. She blamed the lightheadedness. Before her thoughts could stray to more personal interactions with the handsome stranger Eloise focused her mind on the matter at hand. Lady Whistledown was certainly right. The opera did strange things to people.

“Mister Bridgerton,” the man at the top of the stair began, “How wonderful to see you tonight. I’m so lucky to have run into you.”

“Arthur,” her brother returned, “Er, Mister Beaumont, it is a pleasure to see you safely returned to society at last.” The infernally hot stairs finally at its end, Eloise gulped down as much air as she could discreetly hidden behind a fan and her mother. She prayed the wheezing did not give her away.

“May I introduce you to my dear mother and younger sister?” Benedict presented his mother with a flourish that made the group chuckle with good humor and offered Eloise’s hand just in time for her to assemble a nonplussed expression. Mister Arthur Beaumont took her gloved hand and kissed it. Polite of him being that Eloise most likely sweat through the silky lilac confection by the second flight of stairs. It appeared he didn’t notice however, as he looked up at her from under long eyelashes.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Eloise,” he said. Eloise tried not to make a little noise when he let go. Internally she let out a sweet sigh. His dark brown eyelashes were so very beautiful and his eyes changed from honey brown to green in the flickering candlelight. It sent her head spiraling to a new and most intriguing place. Maybe she could make someone feel this way, make their heart pound as hers was pounding. It was a most interesting sentiment indeed. As tonight was a night of firsts, she would try. Eloise couldn’t let some rogue make her go doe-eyed and pliant, friend of Benedict’s or not. 

“Why you must be a man of particular talent, Mister Arthur Beaumont,” Eloise purred his name soft and with a hint of sensuality she did not know she possessed until that very moment. Like Arthur she had decided to use the intimacy of first names. She rather liked the way his eyebrows lifted when she said it. 

“All know Benedict keeps the most talented and well bred of friends,” she continued. 

“Well I can argue that I am at least well bred,” Arthur said, cloyingly sweet. Perhaps the corset was a contraption no woman ever assimilated herself to for Lady Violet interrupted the prolonged eye-contact between Eloise and Sir Beaumont. 

“It is our first Opera with my Eloise and we do not want to be caught standing on the stair when the performance begins. Dear Mister Beaumont, do come to our family box.” Her lady mother said. She was in fact starting to wave her fan much more vigorously than before. 

Luckily, Benedict caught on quickly. 

“If you would like to join me for a glass of brandy? It has been so very long. We have seats for ten and there are but three of us tonight.” 

Eloise appreciated that her mother could easily manipulate the men around her with a well placed pet name. Like Anthony, Benedict or Colin ever had a chance, but her magic worked on strangers. While she was the elder of the group it was quite logical, but the power seemed to hold true for all the young men who had visited Bridgerton house throughout the years from Daphne’s suitors to even the most rough edged of her brother’s friends. 

Mister Beaumont looked to Eloise again as if she would tell him she was interested in his presence as well, but though her spine tingled in a mix of curiosity and adrenaline she would not grant him the satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Readers who have gotten this far! I had a nice time writing this part and can't wait to post more!
> 
> This note is to let you know that I'll be making this story suddenly spicy where appropriate. In my opinion, Pining and Curiosity, Lust and Self Discovery are a must along with the fun of rated M intimacy. When it's right, we'll get there..


	4. The Opera: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Mister Arthur Beaumont quite who we think he is?

An attendant handed Eloise a glass of champagne upon arrival to the Bridgerton family box. Decorum on behalf of her dear mother told her to sip, but the sweat trickling down her spine insisted otherwise. She made her escape to the balcony’s edge and it took only a moment before sips became refreshing gulps of the cool drink. Mister Beaumont intruded before she had a chance to finish the glass in its entirety under her mother’s watch. Ladies of the ton did not gulp. Eloise was also sure ladies of the ton did not make practice flirtations with eligible young bachelors intentionally for purposes of datum.

“Miss Bridgerton” he said to her exposed back. A chill wrinkled down her spine most inelegantly. Eloise posed nearest the railing, looking down at the sea of colors and baubles as they waved to their assigned seats. The crowd of gathered gentry continued to laugh and wave their fans, the ebbs and flows of their conversation making a backdrop that stirred up something oddly excited in Eloise. She told herself that this was the sole reason for the current of happiness running just under skin. The atmosphere. Eloise felt the rush of adrenaline pique as that male voice (who did not share her household) repeated her name.

“Miss Eloise Bridgerton.” She looked behind her, near empty champagne glass discreetly lowered.

“My apologies, the only Miss Bridgerton who has mattered this last year has been my elder sister. Diamond of the first water, maybe you know of the Duchess of Hastings?” She smiled not quite sweetly and Eloise noticed that her joke had not quite landed as intended but left Mister Beaumont with a bit more of a frown than she had seen on the stair.

“No, I’ve been out of country this past season. So your sister is Duchess of Hastings? That must make you the only Miss Bridgerton now,” he said with a measure of seriousness, “and your mother should be proud of you both- equally.” The word hung in the air and Eloise felt a bit more exposed than she would like.

“Well there is Hyacinth too!” she added lamely, deflecting probably the only sincere compliment a stranger had ever given her. Lady Whistledown was always right. There was something about the Opera. Perhaps it was simply the results of her empty champagne glass but Eloise decided in that moment Mister Beaumont was not quite the debauched rake she had expected to meet.

In all honesty, Arthur was not a rogue, nor a rake, or any other slang the ton used these days to describe a man who does everything his heart wants. Part of him wished he were brave enough to try it out, though. He had not romanced his way through the opera houses of Paris last year, though he thought it was quite hilarious watching his mates conspire on what he must have done. In fact, most knew he simply liked art in many forms. He enjoyed the theater, his journal, and much like his dear friend Benedict did, the continuing company of one Henry Granville. Second sons have all the fun, as they say.

He was second son in a family that did not feel so very much like family, but Benedict understood Arthur on a deeper level than even his schoolmates did. He didn’t know that of course, or at least Benedict politely did not act that way, but Arthur had most intentionally found him tonight. He had lingered by the appropriate stair for fifteen minutes before the Bridgerton family made their way to their box. 

Indeed, Arthur had to attend another ‘session’ as they called it, before his head exploded. The pressure his dear mother asserted on him to find a match was enough to drive a man to drink. Continuously. Until inebriation. 

Though he would certainly be true to his word about distracting the preselected mama’s this season, there had to be some sort of motivation to stay in London. It certainly wasn’t the horrendous feeling of trying out shackles when his mama introduced him to a eligible lady and it certainly wasn’t the eligible ladies themselves. Until tonight. At twenty and six, Arthur wasn’t quite looking for a pair yet, but he had so far enjoyed the buzzing in the air when he took Miss Bridgerton’s hand.  
In truth she was not quite the debutante he expected. All the Bridgerton family had resembling features, of course, but Eloise glowed from the inside. 

You could see it in her large eyes and the pretty brows that were expressive like none other debutante Arthur had encountered in his seasons. She was breathtaking and unexpected and a fresh breath of air in the humidity of the opera house he had come to call not quite his second home, but maybe third. His table at White’s was certainly second.

Miss Eloise Bridgerton seemed to keep a little mischief in her voice, a secret behind that perfect mouth. Something deep in his chest wanted to ask for those secrets in exclusively whispers, exclusively wrapped up in his arms. But she had dismissed his compliment and shown her discomfort. Had he so poorly misstepped?  
Arthur was forever sized up to his older brother, and if not sized up, judged as prime example for his younger brother. There was no reprieve from the criticism and when Eloise admitted with more than a little sarcasm her status as the second Miss Bridgerton he had felt so very seen. He was not so very alone after all.

A bell indicated that the attendees should make their way to their seats and both Benedict and Lady Bridgerton appeared on their side of the curtain. The misstep forgiven or forgotten, he could not tell. He and Eloise stepped away as chairs were brought out for the show viewing and Benedict motioned for Arthur to sit beside him a bit of a distance behind Miss Bridgerton and Lady Bridgerton.

“Ah, there we are,” said Benedict,” taking two glasses of coppery liquid from a tray clad attendant. “Welcome back to England, my dear Arthur. I’m so happy to see you in one piece.” The men clinked glasses and contentedly gulped out of the view of the two women. Appearances were everything. For everyone, including those men Lady Whistledown called rakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if these chapters are annoyingly short.


	5. Arthur the Rake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mister Arthur Beaumont is having quite the night as he is thoroughly dazzled by not one but two Bridgertons..

“Do you see Henry Granville these days, Benedict?” The man in question noted internally that Mister Arthur Beaumont did not beat around the bush. 

Everyone needed at least one friend of that manner. It kept one grounded. Benedict laughed good natured at the question very much missing Mister Granville’s parties himself, both for fine art lessons and for the many more ungentlemanly indulgences he enjoyed.

“I have not attended any party of Henry’s in quite some time,” Benedict tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. It did not quite suffice. The sad news earned an exasperated sigh from Arthur and a look of apology. He certainly looked charming with his hazel eyes and splash of freckles spread across his cheeks. A handsome man and a good artist from what he remembered of his work.

In sympathy the two artists slumped a bit in their seats. One could only compose so many landscapes before they completely lost the thrill of sketch and only the arousing nature of charcoal and nude bodies, white sketch paper and heat kept one’s veins running with artistic energy.  
Whether it was the hot attic-turned-art den or the sweet smoke of shared cigarettes there was a very unique place in an artist’s soul where Henry Granville cornered the market. It had been months now. Without a “session” or a party or any get together of any sort. 

“I’m thinking of doing something crazy, actually.” Benedict found himself admitting. Arthur looked surprised to have been included in what Benedict was surely to propose next after a lull in illicit art lessons. He looked surprised and then alight from inside with a joyous relief. 

It took the elder Bridgerton by surprise. He internally noted that Arthur had a great deal of humility about him. Social stature in play, Mister Beaumont had much more humble charm about him than any other twenty- six year old man he knew. In fact, his family box was four down on this very level of the opera house. If his name was to be tied with an improper crowd he had just as much to lose and made illicit art lessons just as appealing to him.

It was a reassurance immediately when Mister Beaumont called an attendant quietly for another round. Two years younger or not, Arthur understood the woes of a second son and even rarer, a second son of wealth who pursued art. Surely they could find a way to recreate Henry Granville’s parties in secret.

The lights were snuffed and the roar of the crowd receded, tide-like to the warming up of instruments in the orchestra. There was so very much Benedict had to say though. Last social season had been the most life-changing thing to have ever happened to him and Arthur actually understood!

The stage illuminated, the heat of the air, the incredible feeling of relating to someone so intensely, with more than one Bridgerton that night, made Arthur speak quite before thinking.

“You can host it in my bachelor lodgings.” He said with an air of finality, very much not in the possession of any bachelor lodgings.

“A bit of a distance from Bruton Street,” he whispered, “but I think that is exactly what we are looking for.” He had been hoping for just the excuse to find his own lodgings far away from his mother’s screeching soprano.

How would he ever see Eloise again though? So very far from Bruton Street he’d never see her candidly or so very sweaty again. Even now she occupied a part of his mind. It was inevitable, for she was seated before him in the heat of the opera, a thing of beauty but for the obvious discomfort of the corset she wore. Discomfort was never a thing to admire in Arthur’s opinion, so as regal and alluring as she looked from behind, Arthur found himself looking at the jewels in her brunette hair.

In a moment he found his mind thoroughly distracted wondering just how she wore her hair to sleep when she was most at comfort, when she felt most herself. It couldn’t be in the perfect coiffure crowned in amethyst crystals. Did someone like her know the power in owning their own comfort, how beautiful and sexy a comfortable happy woman could be? Or the value of their personality? Did someone like her filter every thought for the ton? Or was there somewhere else she could set her soul free? 

There was more to a person than jewels and something in Eloise made him want to look again into those intelligent eyes and find the answer to that question. Arthur suddenly felt quite overwhelmed by his seat in the Bridgerton family box, but also quite pleased at the same time. 

Maybe he would look a street and a half over from Bruton. That was far enough not to see anything untoward from the roof of an art den, surely. And at once close enough to perhaps see a Miss Bridgerton promenading the neighborhood?

His mates were never going to let up when they heard this. He could practically see the Whistledown column head: "Mister Arthur Beaumont, sex crazed artist of the ton promises bachelor lodgings to notorious heartbreaker Benedict Bridgerton for illicit art lessons". 

It was enough to make his heart pound in the most peculiar and not at all displeasing way. He’d never been so rakish in his life and if Arthur was being honest with himself it didn’t matter what anyone called it. It tasted sweet. Arthur the rake could do anything, he determined, including changing his life between notes in a soprano’s song.

If luck were to be with him Arthur the rake could impress Benedict by providing a venue and still have a friend in society with which he could also be a gentleman. A friend who's eyes he could not stop staring into, but that business was for tonight, when he was alone back at Beaumont House. Arthur the rake, the side of him free to seek his pleasure, determined this was by far the best thing that could have happened tonight.

Benedict, perhaps still listening to the opera instead of the racing in Arthur's chest, finished his drink slowly while looking out to the stage.  
When only remnants of ice remained he turned back and held out a gloved hand.

“You, Arthur can expect a call from me by this week’s end.” They shook on it and while Arthur enjoyed the heat of Benedict's touch he did have enough sense to notice the littlest tilt to Eloise’s head in front of him.  
He must have been excited to begin planning as Benedict added in a whisper so private the heat of it on Arthur's ear had him struggling not to close his eyes and savor it.  
“You’ll help me select the models, won’t you?”  
All he could do was nod his agreement for fear of giving away how good it felt. Internally he groaned in delight.  
For the first time, Mister Arthur Beaumont felt to his toes the satisfaction of a pleasure-seeking Rake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your read!


	6. On the Subject of Bachelors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like all women, Eloise and Penelope have their secrets. But unlike most women of the ton, they can actually keep one or two.

Eloise and Penelope snuggled further into the damask sofa, a box of chocolates and a romance novel between the two of them. Stocking feet on the matching damask ottoman, the young women sat and enjoyed their latest hobby. Utterly smitten and false swooning they continued to read aloud, enacting the scene as the novel’s main characters. 

It was their time to be improper and curious and just a bit indulgent. Thursday afternoon two weeks ago got a bit heavy handed as it happened to be a particularly sunny day in the drawing room. Between them the two young women had discovered a variety of intimate knowledge on the other as well as the joy of strawberries and champagne, straight from the bottle.

They laughed and sighed together through Pride and Prejudice, 1813’s most romantic daydream. And quite suddenly Eloise couldn’t contain her feelings. The encounter she had made with Mister Arthur Beaumont had inspired some rather private discoveries last night, and the night previous, and the night previous.

“There was a gentleman I met at the Opera house a few nights back,” Eloise said and Penelope gasped loudly and most unladylike. 

“You did? Are you in earnest? You let me read four paragraphs, Eloise! Four! Of a book we have already read!” she yelled it and turned pink in cheek when she had finished. Yelling and laughing too loudly seemed to be one of Penelope’s favored indulgences.

Eloise felt her own cheeks grow hot and her stomach tighten in that excited way it did when she recreated Mister Beaumont’s stare on her exposed neck.   
Never before had she felt so acutely aware of a man, the way he shifted, the way he breathed seated right behind her. How was she to tell Penelope that she had never felt so aware and so-compelled?

“Why do you look so embarrassed?” her friend questioned, “I’m sure last week I told you worse. So much worse.”

“Because by the end of the show I did not have a clue what the Opera was about. This man, Mister Beaumont had somehow bewitched me with his breath. Which makes me quite obligated to perform a number of experiments to make myself immune to the breath of rakes, immediately.”

Eloise stood to dramatically make her reveal. It was a flask hidden behind a particularly oblong vase; A flask that was certainly Benedict’s. As they had currently been sipping a drink stolen of some make from Anthony’s supply in the viscount’s office, she moved to refill their glasses with the mystery liquid. 

“As much as I can appreciate trying something new with dark chocolate, I don’t believe Benedict’s brandy will make things any clearer.” Penelope said, popping a dark chocolate confection in her mouth. Eloise took up a glass and sniffed delicately, aloud she posed the question clinically to make light of the tingling down her spine.

“Will you breathe on me? On my own breath it is not as sensually potent but I still remember I enjoyed it when he spoke to me face to face.” Eloise looked quite serious at first but let out a loud giggle at Penelope’s guffaw. Both ladies imbibed a full swallow this time. 

“Not my very favorite drink, Eloise.” Both noses wrinkled in matching expressions of displeasure.

“It doesn’t matter. Say something rakish. I shall close my eyes." She squinted a bit but did not at all close her eyes.

Penelope looked thoughtful and put one had to her breast, “I can feel the tension between us, Miss Bridgerton. Best that you stay there, for I don't know if I could handle being quite so alone with you."

She took another sip to refresh her brandy breath, "It's because I’m that handsome gentleman from the Opera, that friend of Benedict’s.” She giggled.

“Miss Featherington I thought we were friends," Eloise screeched and hid her red face into one of the beadwork pillows. With vigor Penelope finished her drink. She tucked her legs underneath her and faced Eloise. Her smile was a bit silly, but Eloise figured hers matched.

“Oh Penelope, I feel like such a hypocrite.” She admitted, “I didn’t know that I could feel some sort of need from a handsome man’s kindness. It makes me feel so silly, and I am never silly without the express intent to be silly!”

“Perhaps he is simply a good young gentleman with a complex heart?” Penelope suggested. Eloise had a quick response for that of course.

“I will once again remind you, dear Penelope of the company he keeps. Benedict Bridgerton, as much as I adore him, is a rake. Lady Whistledown reports it as so.”

“Not quite exactly that way, I remember,” Penelope insisted, “Benedict had the “ability to charm and flatter” like any proper rake. If we were speaking of Anthony however, you would be correct. He rather openly takes interest in opera stars.”

“Rake’s don’t have a complex heart. That is the point! They do whatever they wish and never suffer the consequences. Do you see Anthony crying for his opera star when he danced at mama's Birthday Party? No. Rakes know no suffering. Most unfortunately I can never speak to Mister Arthur Beaumont again so I cannot fall under his rakish spell.” Her mind looked only partially made up.

“Oh quite fine Eloise, you may certainly dance around fate, but soon you’ll realize you’ve been waltzing closer and closer into his arms. And inevitably Mister Arthur will find you if Lady Violet doesn’t find him first."

“Can we get some air Penelope? It is quite beginning to smell like a men’s club in here,” said Eloise, very little aware of the newest neighbor moving to the lodgings a street or so down from her home on Bruton Street.

Penelope took out two of the last chocolates from the box and handed one to Eloise. “Your breath is rank. Aren’t you afraid we should be seen by someone?”

“Not a bit,” boasted Miss Eloise Bridgerton, “We are simply promenading are we not?”

Misters Phillip and Charles Pembroke, in vibrant colored vests to rival a Featherington, indulged in a promenade twice a day most weeks, typically with an outfit change in the middle and most particularly on the days something scandalous was published.

In this case they simply promenaded straight for scandal, inevitably to occur in Arthur’s first ever bachelor lodgings. Bruton Street was a wonderful place to meet a rich miss on a promenade. The pair had decided it was quite a wonderful idea to visit Arthur, even if the move was still in process.

Beside the second carriage in a neat row of three, Arthur stood with four or five servants and a selection of paintings.  
“If you would please, this one shall go in my study and this one to my bed chambers,” he instructed. The misters Pembroke greeted their friend with congratulations and insisted on handing a servant a beautifully wrapped gift, a crystal decanter by the looks of the familiar packaging.

“Arthur, you’ve done it! You have won the game. Please tell me you shall turn your bachelor lodgings into an extension of Whites. It would be like Oxford days again. Only better.” The men looked a bit giddy.

“How do you feel about opera singers, my friend. Private musicales perhaps?” Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Cheeky. You know my weaknesses. Come inside already, lest the neighbors notice such conversation on the street.” Arthur led the way to the other side of the carriages and right into the view of two such neighbors.

Miss Eloise Bridgerton and Miss Penelope Featherington came promenading around the corner from behind a large rosebush to find Mister Arthur Beaumont, who in fact was the man who had moved in a street or so away from Bridgerton House. And now that they had made eye contact, there was no way to avoid an introduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! For a bit of depth in regards to my perspective:  
> 1\. Arthur and his friends are unexperienced with women, all nerdy/dorky guys just growing up and doing their best.
> 
> 2\. People of this world confused lust with love with friendship in the opposite sex. I love exploring this in the interaction between Eloise/Penelope as well as with the boys.
> 
> 3\. Part of the fun Bridgerton introduced was the idyllic large family. I love it and want to include the idyllic set of loving childhood friends. It's hard to resist not making a gang of want to be rakes who all think that surely one of them is experienced with women.
> 
> 4\. I want the innocence coming from Eloise in the show to be a starting point in this fiction, not suddenly jump to a mature understanding of sex and love. In the show it is implied she is 20, one year younger than Daphne and still discovering a whole lot about herself much as Daphne had to. I like to think Eloise is a bit more willing to explore herself though in comparison to her sister being that her personality is less afraid in most things.
> 
> 5.In my writing Eloise is 20, Penelope 21, Arthur 26, Bendict 28, The boys are 25 - 27
> 
> 6\. The fact stands throughout time that young men and women in their twenties can be selfish, sex-driven and act sometimes only because they are curious.
> 
> 7\. I am a cis woman with little experience in writing m/m scenes. I do know chemistry is chemistry though.   
> ( point being -i'd love to know if this distracts from the story in the future. let me know.)


	7. Neighbors of Bruton Street

Arthur found his heart racing at the sight of Bridgerton brunette locks. Miss Eloise looked just as shocked as he felt and once again a smile came to the corner of his lips at her expressive brows. She was looking slightly over his head when she spoke.

“Mister Arthur, Are you the curator of the Beaumont family?” Eloise said for introduction, the paintings being carefully handled at the doorway were only the smaller of the landscapes now, the ones in which only two people need carry them. He found that he quite liked the way she said his name though, with just a bit of excitement in her voice, a little bit of reverence even.

“You flatter by naming me curator as it implies I have good taste in art,” He revealed, “and you have not even seen my drawing room, Miss Eloise.” The look he gave her was intentionally hot, intentionally using her first name most informally, but he saw her melt nonetheless.

“Penelope, we must judge Mister Arthur in truth next week. A new portrait is to make its debut at Somerset House and I must know if he truly has an ounce of taste or just wants to impress us.” 

Miss Eloise made the joke with a wink and held out a hand for him to take and kiss. Which he did, quite enjoying how much light and atmosphere the two women seemed to bring with them. The proper introductions were made between the two parties and somehow, without any meddling mama’s or angry older brothers a conversation about color theory easily transitioned to history and art medium, which Eloise insisted included the written form. Between the five of them, there was quite a bounty of wit and joy to be had. Almost as if eligible men and women could enjoy each other’s company in conversation. 

“I’ll argue that art is beautiful and meaningful but altogether less a treasure than knowledge of the artist’s soul itself. Who among us would ignore Michelangelo to ask the carved marble of its trials?” Eloise declared.

Phillip and Charles, who had been history fanatics alike in their school days sighed wistfully at Arthur’s neighbors. Not only did they peacock in their matching black velvet jackets, haughty and unapproachable as ever, it was apparent they had never truly spoken a full conversation of any substance with a woman before. They hadn’t thought to try, Arthur reflected.

If swooning were a gentlemanly behavior, the pair would be a puddle at Penelope’s feet. As much as they would never admit it, Arthur knew the pair had a love of finery that rivaled any debutante and Penelope knew how to make canary diamonds sparkle. 

Not a one of them could have predicted the spark of friendship that had transpired between the young people, but Arthur very much hoped the two would again grace his side of the neighborhood. Until then he would try not to peek out his drawing room window. 

“It’s simply too bad that we cannot be friends with Misses Penelope and Eloise,” said Arthur, much later at White’s. He held a sketchbook in one hand and a fine pen in the other, drawing a still life. The form of one sleeping Sir Bradford, head lolling back into a stuffed leather chair, his hat on the ground having fallen off his head. 

“They both made the cut, Pembroke. I have both their miniatures.” His table mates, the usual suspects of course, were sipping expensive brandies on the family dime.

“What do you mean we cannot? Surely we can see them again as long as their mama’s do not find their intended target?” Phillip posed, more than a little unsettled.

Mister Weatherby was not prepared for the conflict and burst in an uproar, “You’re friends with them? Why?” But like the young man he was, he could not help but add insult to injury. “What fresh new perspective do those two have for you that is worth their hounding mama’s and no benefits of physical touch? You’re going to regret being nice to them,” he warned. 

Arthur worried for a divide among his friends but the conversation in question had apparently meant something more to the misters Pembroke. It had been charming to befriend the two women, truly. Maybe they had even felt seen that same sensation Arthur had when Eloise spoke at the Opera. It was so very nice to feel something real after the saccharine drivel the ton poured atop every other word to their peers.

“Mister Weatherby,” Arthur started, “I do believe the terms of the agreement were to play keep away from exactly one mama each. The relationship involving the misters Pembroke and those ladies are really none of your business”.

It should have hurt less for how fair the statement was, but the discomfort still sat between the group, near palpable. All knew it to be an odd first of sorts, but Arthur did what he thought any unshackled man would do, uniting the bachelors together. He ordered another round of drinks for the table and invited the bunch to his first big soiree in his new home. 

Benedict met Eloise out at the garden swing for the second time in a fortnight. The wind was warmer than usual and Eloise had taken off her slippers and thrown her head back. She stared into the oak tree branches as if their leaves held all the world’s secrets. Benedict kicked off his boots and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, feeling for the first time in a week he could take a deep breath.

“Benedict, Do you think that a writer can sit among artists and talk with experience?” asked Eloise.

Benedict looked confused. “That was not quite what I had anticipated in topic, but go on. Some context is appreciated.”

“I have had feelings,” Eloise began tenuously, “that I think might be quelled by conversation, as I think my mind is not making the most sense.” Embarrassed, she looked anywhere but at her brother’s eyes, “Can men and women be friends whilst having sensual… feelings? Can a man be interested in me for my love of Austen and my figure?” 

Internally Benedict laughed at how painful that must have been for poor Eloise to admit. Aloud he said,” Yes, Eloise. Dear sister, I have been anticipating this as over time we have grown closer as siblings and friends.”

“This thought does not come lightly, as I will always want to keep you safe, but you and I live in a different world than Anthony and Daphne, one with options for we intellectuals and artists. Not only are we second, but we can play a double life One that is worthy of our station and one that feeds the soul.”

He took in a full deep breath before he admitted his most treasured secret to his favorite purveyor of gossip. Part of him couldn’t believe that temptation had finally won out. 

“We, Eloise, can have fun. Worlds of fun.” Benedict smiled at his sister, a cigarette poised between her fingers. She was a woman in her own right, now. An artist, a writer, an intellectual. Benedict would always guard her with care, but he wouldn’t be surprised to find that she thrived in the same company he did.  
He there decided that it was very much time for a story. One that had filled his heart and begun with a very nightmarish moment with one Henry Granville.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
